


germ magnet

by superstringtheory



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Caretaking, Chicken Pox, Common Cold, Coughing, Family Issues, Fever, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IKEA, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Influenza, Interviews, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Los Angeles, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding, Sick Character, Sick Klaus Hargreeves, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Vomiting, bronchitis, shared childhood trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: Aka, five times each Hargreeves sibling took care of Klaus, and one time it was all of them.





	1. germ magnet (luther)

Klaus was always a germ magnet, as far as Luther can remember. Not that he’d been paying a ton of attention to Klaus during their adolescence, because, well,  _ Allison _ , but there are certainly fuzzy memories of Klaus coughing at the dinner table until Reginald banished him to his room, or Klaus shivering under blankets on the couch. 

 

Luther figures that an adolescence and early adulthood spent god knows where could have only exacerbated the issue. 

 

“So, were you… sick a lot when you were… uh…” Luther trails off, suddenly uncertain. 

 

Klaus gives him a nonplussed look. “Were you about to ask about when I was ‘on the streets’, brother dear?” He coughs chestily at the end, and Luther winces at the sound. 

 

“Well, dear Luther, I won’t bore you with the de _ tails _ of my life before joining back up with the Brady Bunch, but I assure you I had a roof over my head.” Klaus breaks off to cough again, glaring at Luther the whole time, as if it’s his fault that Klaus’ lungs are rebelling against him. 

 

“And even if I didn’t,” Klaus continues, “well, then it was my choice, wasn’t it? Now, are you going to give me my tea or not?” 

 

*** 

 

Klaus has been battling this respiratory infection for the past few days, but now that it’s past its feverish peak, Klaus is cranky and petulant. Luther supposes he doesn’t blame him much- personally, he doesn’t get sick anymore. Maybe something about his DNA being fused with an ape’s, but he’s never much wanted to know too much about that. 

 

He could probably get monkeypox, if he went and handled some infected monkeys, but why on earth would he want to do that? Klaus doesn’t need commiseration  _ that _ much. 

 

“Your tea,” Luther says when he brings the steaming mug. “And not so much honey, you’re going to rot your teeth out.” 

 

“Oh, honey,”-- Klaus coughs-- “if you only  _ knew _ what I used to do to my teeth, you’d be grateful that this is my last remaining vice.” He coughs again until Luther looks pointedly at the mug. 

 

Klaus takes a few dramatic sips, then seems to lose his vigor as another coughing fit overtakes him. 

 

“Do you want some more of that cough syrup?” 

 

“Fine. It’s  _ vile _ , but I suppose it must needs do.” 

 

Luther watches Klaus glug the cough medicine, then wipe his mouth on the sleeve of a silk robe that at least used to belong to Allison. It’s weird to be here like this, to be fitting himself into a puzzle piece that hasn’t been in its place for a long time. On the moon, he’d only ever had to think about himself and the mission (however useless it was) Dad has sent him on. 

 

Now he’s back in this house with all of his siblings and they rely on him. They’re almost a  _ team _ again. Never mind that one of them is only sometimes corporeal and they’re all fucked up in multitudes of ways. 

 

“It’s hard,” Luther starts, then stops, gathering his thoughts. “It’s hard-- to see you like this and not feel bad about how I wasn’t there for you.” 

 

There. It’s out. Like spitting out so much bone and gristle. Unpleasant, but part of the whole. 

 

Klaus fixes him with a stare for a moment. 

 

“Oh, please.” Klaus flaps a hand at him. “This is the healthiest I’ve been in, like, ten years.” He tilts his head to the side and nods, listening. “Ben concurs. And he was way more sober for it, so he’d know.” 

 

Luther shrugs. “Yeah, well… I still feel bad that I didn’t ever help you out, you know?” 

 

Klaus wheezes a laugh, then coughs into the sleeve of the robe. Allison is definitely never getting it back. 

 

“You’re here now, aren’t you? That counts enough for me. Oh, and Ben says that I was, quote unquote, ‘unhelpable’ for most of that time, so your guilt is misplaced.” Klaus clears his throat, looking Luther in the eye. 

 

“But… if you still feel guilty enough, you could go grab me some ice cream.” 

 

*** 

It’s not a conversation that’s going to end in hugs. They’re not that kind of family. But for now, it’ll do. 

 

Luther makes his way towards the door. 

 

“Something with chocolate!” Klaus cries after him, setting off another coughing jag. 

 

Luther just smiles. 

 

*****


	2. playing chicken (five)

It only took him a couple of decades, but Five supposes that he eventually came to a sort of grudging admiration of Reginald Hargreeves, a.k.a. their (not so) dearly departed dad. It  _ would _ take an apocalypse to appreciate the man, but he did impart plenty of good surviving-in-a-wasteland knowledge. Finding potable water, making fires, everything up to being vaccinated against a laundry list of potential epidemic-causing pathogens. 

 

Five pokes at the raised, circular scar on his own upper arm, then looks back at his brother. 

 

“You’re sure you never got it?” 

 

Klaus sniffs, affronted. “Clearly.” He sniffs again, then blows his nose into a tissue. “Apparently Dad didn’t think I’d last long enough in an apocalyptic scenario to succumb to something as quotidian as a virus.” He coughs lightly, then scratches at his face. 

 

“Stop it,” Five says, grabbing his wrist. “It’ll scar.” 

 

Klaus just gazes at him petulantly under unkempt hair. “Maybe I want scars.” 

 

“Not like that, you don’t. Chickenpox is a lot worse in adults, you know.” 

 

“I’m aware.” Klaus says drily, then coughs again. “This suuuucks. Dad was the woooorst.” 

 

It’s a pretty sound argument, Five has to admit. What kind of guy gets the majority of his children vaccinated against all known diseases including  _ smallpox _ and then doesn’t get his other kid the freakin’ chickenpox shot? 

 

“Stop scratching,” Five says again. It’s rote by now, and Klaus gives him a dark look, but stops, crossing his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. 

 

“Do you need, I don’t know, an oatmeal bath or something?” Five asks, scouring the depths of his brain for information about chickenpox care. It’s not like  _ he _ ever had it. 

 

Klaus sighs, longsuffering. “Will it stop the itching?” 

 

“As far as I know, yes.” 

 

“... Fine.” 

 

***

 

Klaus is wrapped in a silk robe of Allison’s, standing next to the tub, peering in as Five shakes powdered oatmeal into the water. 

 

“Looks… soupy.” 

 

“What did you expect?” Five says, slightly annoyed. “It’s oatmeal. And not just oatmeal, mind you, but pulverized oatmeal. I hope you know that means that I had to go down to the kitchen and blend oatmeal for five minutes.” 

 

Klaus sniffs at the bathtub again. “Don’t make it sound like you walked down there. We both know you just popped in and out.” 

 

Five struggles, really struggles, but holds his tongue. “Klaus. Just get in the tub.” 

 

Klaus gets, and though Five’s getting used to it again, he’s still a little surprised by how little Klaus cares for modesty- he slips out of the robe, then is all elbows and ribs climbing into the tub. 

 

Once Klaus has lowered himself into the water, he lets out a little sigh of relief. 

 

“Is that better?” Five can’t help asking, and Klaus just sighs again. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.” Five turns to leave Klaus to his simmering, but Klaus’ voice stops him at the door. 

 

“Stay?” 

 

“Really? Me?” 

 

Klaus just stares at Five unblinkingly. “Stay, and talk to me.” 

 

“... Okay, fine. I’ll stay.” 

 

*** 

Of course, as soon as he agrees to stay, Five has no idea what to talk about. Sure, he spent decades in an apocalyptic wasteland waxing poetic to a detached mannequin torso, but entertaining his only newly-not-estranged brother is another story. 

 

Klaus snorts as Five is still figuring out what to say. “It’s hard to take you seriously in that outfit. You look like you should be declaiming Latin verb tenses to me or something.” He coughs lightly into his elbow. 

 

“You’re one to talk about serious outfits.” 

 

“Touché.” 

 

Five settles for sitting on the bathroom rug, arms curled around his knees. Which, yes, are bare, because yes, he’s wearing the stupid shorts uniform. 

 

“Kind of strange how we’re all back together here, huh?” It’s not what he expected to say, but after a few more moments of silence, it just kind of happens. 

 

Klaus shifts in the tub, splashing. “Stranger things have happened.” There’s another splashing sound, and Five sits more upright. 

 

“I hope that’s not you scratching.” 

 

“Excuse you!” Klaus crosses his arms over his chest, sinking further down into the water. “I would do  _ no _ such thing.” 

 

There’s a silence, and Five thinks that he might’ve screwed it all up again. Years without human contact didn’t exactly do his social skills any favors. 

 

Then Klaus speaks up. “Would you”-- he stops to clear his throat-- “sorry, tickle in my throat. Would you tell me about Delores?” 

 

It’s not mocking, like Five might’ve expected. Instead, there’s just curiosity, seemingly genuine in nature. 

 

“Well,” Five says. “Well. Okay.” 

 

*** 

 

Five isn’t sure when Klaus falls asleep, but he’s going to chalk that one up to varicella and not his own storytelling acumen. He stays there on the bathroom rug for longer than he’d like to admit, just listening to the sounds of another person breathing. It’s the least lonely he’s been in decades. 

***** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @superstringtheory.tumblr.com. I'm currently musing on what type of illness to plague poor Klaus with next...


	3. upheaval (diego)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomiting. Nothing graphic, but FYI.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” 

 

“Yeah?” Klaus looks up at him, sweaty. “Like what?” 

 

Diego didn’t expect this response, and he waffles, considering his next words carefully. In the meantime, Klaus gags and spits into the toilet again. 

 

“‘S’not what it looks like,” he says when he’s done. “This is the honest to god stomach flu.” He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and leans forward to flush. 

 

“Fuck,” Klaus moans as he sits back against the bathroom wall. “I’m never eating again.” 

 

“I doubt that,” Diego replies drily as he bends down to rummage in the bathroom cabinet. Finding what he was looking for, he straightens up and dampens the washcloth with cool water, then hands it to his brother. 

 

“Uh, thanks?” Klaus says upon receipt of the wet cloth. 

 

“It’s to put on your face. You know, like a cold compress.” 

 

A smile curls Klaus’ chapped lips. “Well, aren’t you the turn-of-the-century nursemaid.” The expression fades as his face loses color and he leans desperately for the toilet bowl, dry heaving over it. 

 

“Fuck,” Klaus repeats when he’s done. “There’s nothing left to come up. God, it  _ hurts _ .” He’s curled in on himself, still clutching the washcloth, and Diego tsks in concern. 

 

“Think you could make it to the bedroom if I help you? I’ll bring you a bucket or something.” 

 

Klaus looks dubious. 

 

“It’ll be more comfortable than the floor, and I can bring you some Gatorade or something, too.” 

 

“... Fine. But don’t carry me. I’m still perfectly ambulatory.” 

 

*** 

 

Diego doesn’t carry Klaus, but he does all but. The less said about the trip, the better. Diego’s just relieved to have Klaus back in his bed and hopefully on the mend. 

 

“Here,” Diego tells him, handing him the bowl he’d found in the kitchen cupboard. “In case.” 

 

“Uh… why do we have a dog dish? We never had a dog.” 

 

Diego ponders for a moment. “No, but we had Ben. That was something.” 

 

There’s a momentary pause. 

 

“He didn’t think that was funny,” Klaus says seriously, then lets out a little burst of laughter. “I did, though.” 

 

“Oh. Sorry, Ben,” Diego says. “No offense intended.” 

 

Klaus cocks his head like he’s listening, and then nods, but doesn’t relay anything else to Diego. Instead, he sighs. 

 

“I wish I could manifest him again. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to since, you know, the apocalypse that didn’t happen.” He shivers at the end of the sentence, and Diego realizes that Klaus is probably running a fever. He’s always been like that- sensitive to changes in temperature and spiking fevers with even minor illnesses. 

 

“Hey,” Diego says, not wanting to address the other brother in the room. “Do you think you could keep some Advil or something down?” 

 

Klaus considers. “Hmm. I guess so.” It’s been about fifteen minutes since the last time he’d thrown up, so Diego is counting that as a win for the time being. 

 

“Okay. I’ll go get you some meds and some ginger ale or something. I’ll be right back.” 

 

*** 

 

Diego pauses by the bedroom door on his way back. Klaus is sitting up in bed, pale but for two red flags of color tingeing his cheeks. Diego hazards a quick glance: the dog dish of mysterious provenance remains mercifully unused, and so maybe Klaus is on the upswing. As he’s watching, Klaus shifts his gaze over to the doorway, and Diego takes that as his cue to enter. 

 

“Here,” he says awkwardly, handing Klaus a can of ginger ale he’d unearthed from the fridge. “If you want a cup I can get you one.” 

 

“It’s okay,” Klaus replies, sounding exhausted. He has to be; it’s almost ten p.m. and he must’ve been coming down with this all day. He takes the can, cracks it, then lifts it slightly in Diego’s direction. 

 

“Salud,” he says without expression, and takes a small sip, seeming to test his stomach’s acceptance or rejection of anything new. 

 

Diego perches himself on Klaus’ desk chair, which is supremely uncomfortable. He figures that he’ll stay here for another half hour or so just to see how Klaus is faring, but he feels pretty good about having nipped this mostly in the bud. Or at least so it seems. 

 

*** 

 

“So we’re just not going to mention how you just assumed I was detoxing again,” Klaus says after a bit, and his voice is quiet but his diction unmistakable. His eyes look a little shiny, bright from fever, but he’s clearly given this some thought. It hits Diego like a knife in the heart and he’d know, having thrown enough of them. 

 

“Shit,” Diego says, the first word that comes to mind. “I’m so sorry, Klaus. I just…” he trails off, not sure how to apologize for this erroneous presumption. 

 

“I’ve been clean for a few months now, Diego,” Klaus continues, still in that sharp, quiet voice. “I’m trying really hard here. I don’t want all of you to just be waiting for me to trip up.” His voice gets a little louder. “Because I’m not planning on it.” 

 

Shit. How did he fuck this up so badly, and so quickly? 

 

“Klaus,” Diego starts, pulling the chair closer to the bed. “I’m really sorry about assuming that you were using again. It was wrong of me, and I’m going to work on doing better. I just… 

 

“I get it,” Klaus says. “I’m just feverish and overly emotional right now. Don’t sweat it.” He flaps a tired hand in his brother’s direction. 

 

There doesn’t seem to be much to say after that, and Klaus busies himself with taking more sips of ginger ale, all of which stay down. 

 

“Okay,” Diego says, checking his watch. “It’s been an hour since you last puked. I think you’re going to make it.” He injects some cheer into his voice, trying to lighten the mood. 

 

“So far,” Klaus replies without a trace of irony, and that knife in Diego’s heart twists. Clearly, sometimes he forgets that behind the overdone facade, his brother has been deeply wounded. 

 

“Do you want me to stay?” Diego asks, and Klaus briefly looks surprised. 

 

“As fun as it would be to watch you try to sleep in that chair, it’s okay. I’ll be all right.” He shivers lightly, but there’s a touch of a smile on his face. 

 

“Okay.” Diego stands, then returns the chair to its place by the desk. He turns to go, but something makes him stop by the door. 

 

“You call me if you need anything, okay? You know I’ll be there, right?” It comes out a little harsher than he’d intended, but it seems to please Klaus. 

 

“Yeah,” Klaus says. “I do.” 

 

***** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at superstringtheory.tumblr.com. I'm always up to chat about sick Klaus and what a mess he'd be.


	4. homesick (vanya)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My targeted ads aren't going to recover from the IKEA research I had to do for this chapter for like, MONTHS. #worthit

“You know,” Klaus says to her, “I don’t think I’ve ever really been homesick before.” He pauses to cough into his elbow. 

 

“Mm?” Vanya replies, because she’s not really sure what else to say. 

 

“Sure,” Klaus continues easily. “Wasn’t exactly hard to leave that shithole after Ben… well. You know. It wasn’t exactly homey at the best of times.” 

 

Vanya purses her lips and nods in agreement. 

 

Klaus, never undeterred, continues. “Being here makes me kind of want to feel it, you know?” 

 

“Know what?” 

 

“Feel  _ home _ sick.” Klaus’ voice breaks on the last word and he coughs spectacularly. A couple with a baby in a cart edge away from them. 

 

Vanya tugs at Klaus’ elbow and sits them both down on a grey  _ Landskrona _ . 

 

“Why didn’t you say that you were sick?” 

 

“Who, me? I’m not sick.” 

 

Vanya sighs. “Look, Klaus…” 

 

“Well, I can’t exactly chug a bottle of Nyquil anymore, can I?” Klaus tosses his head and his curls fly around dramatically. 

 

“... I suppose not.” 

 

“You suppose right.” Klaus sniffs, then drags his sleeve under his nose. “Come on.” 

 

Suddenly he’s standing again, looking impatient, as if  _ Vanya _ is the one who’s impeding their progress by being sick and easily distractible. 

 

Vanya gets up. “Fine. Let’s just head over to the bedroom area so we can get what we came for and then leave.” 

 

*** 

 

Crowded places aren’t Vanya’s favorites at the best of times. She’s not sure if IKEA ever has a best time, but she’s sure that a Saturday afternoon is certainly not it. Especially not with Klaus, who sounds like a walking advertisement for getting your children vaccinated and staying indoors.

 

Vanya is ready to cheer when they finally reach the “Bedroom” section. She winces as Klaus lets loose with another set of painful-sounding coughs. 

 

“Ugh,” she says. “Is there an IKEA section for ‘sick people who should be at home in bed’?” 

 

“Sure there is.” 

 

And then Vanya watches her brother hop onto the nearest model bed, unfettered by social rules or IKEA etiquette. It’s like watching a tornado hit- you want to be far away, but you also kind of want to see what happens. 

 

“Klaus, I really don’t think they want your feet on the furniture.” 

 

“It’s okay, Vanya. The  _ Snefjord _ doesn’t mind, do you, little  _ Snefjord _ ?” Klaus scoots back on the bed until he’s lying there with his head on the pillows. He pats the comforter. 

 

“God, this is comfortable. You should get this one.” Klaus coughs, then closes his eyes and snuggles into the bedding. 

 

“Klaus…” 

 

He opens an eye, and Vanya sighs. 

 

“You know that even if I do pick this one, we have to go down to the bottom floor and get the pieces, right?” 

 

He blinks at her. “I thought you would do that part.” 

 

“Klaus. The whole point of you coming with me was so that I wouldn’t be doing that on my own.” 

 

“Oh.” Klaus blinks some more, then shivers. “Ugh. Fuck.” 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Yes. No. Well. Just cold.” Klaus bunches the  _ Tovsippa _ duvet cover up under his chin. 

 

Vanya steps up next to the  _ Snefjord _ and puts her hand on her brother’s forehead. She frowns. 

 

“Okay.” Vanya’s sure she hasn’t sighed this much in her entire life. 

 

“Okay what?” 

 

“Okay, stay here and I’ll come back and get you after I get the bed pieces into the car.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Really. But if security removes you, it’s not my fault.” 

 

“Mmm.” Klaus wiggles down into a fetal position. He flaps a hand at Vanya. “Just… wake me up when you’re done.” 

 

*** 

 

Vanya’s only half surprised when she returns forty-five frantic minutes later (that  _ Snefjord  _ better be damn comfortable or she’s going to burn it) to find the bed where she left her brother empty. She takes quick, decisive steps around the model bedroom, noting the rumpled duvet cover and wrinkled pillowcase like a detective. She’s almost burst into frustrated tears when she hears the high pitched voice of a toddler a few yards away: “Look, Mommy! That man is sleeping in the bed!” 

 

Well, thank God or whoever. 

 

Klaus is blinking awake when she gets there, looking flushed and peaked. He coughs chestily, and Vanya feels a little prickle of sympathetic pain. He sounds  _ awful _ , like once she’d realized that he was sick, he’d stopped pretending he wasn’t, or like he’s now feeling too bad to fake it. 

 

“You ready to go?” she asks, and Klaus sits up. 

 

“ _ Björksnäs _ ,” he says, then breaks into another coughing fit. 

 

“Bless you?” Vanya tries, but Klaus just shakes his head. 

 

“ _ Björksnäs _ ,” he repeats, and points at a little plastic tag hanging off of the bed frame. Vanya waits and lets him catch his breath. 

 

“‘S’way more comfortable than the  _ Snefjord _ .” 

 

Vanya silently congratulates herself on not rolling her eyes. 

 

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you home and into bed.” 

 

“... Fine. As long as it’s not the  _ Snefjord _ .” 

 

***** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning chapter 5 to be a continuation of this one, but with some Allison caretaking action. Stay tuned!


	5. maternal (allison)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place about a week after Chapter 4.

“It’s like I’m in  _ Moulin Rouge _ .” Klaus flops onto the couch dramatically. 

 

“That was tuberculosis, not bronchitis, Klaus. You’ll be fine.” 

 

Allison knows that she really shouldn’t be short with her brother, but he’s been sick for what feels like  _ forever _ and she’s feeling empathy fatigue. It’s a real thing. She’s looked it up. Besides, they’ve just gotten back from the local Urgent Care, where Klaus had been about as easy to keep entertained as a small toddler, and about as quiet. 

 

“Ben says you should be nicer to me. I’m sick.” Klaus is sitting up now, long legs bowed in front of him like a praying mantis. 

 

“Klaus, I swear, you can’t use that for everything. I can’t hear him. You can make up whatever you want him to say and it’s like I’ll have to believe it because it came from you, soothsayer to our dead brother.” 

 

“Excuuuse me.” Klaus clears his throat, then starts coughing spectacularly, and when the fit doesn’t stop after a few moments, Allison swallows hot guilt. 

 

“Hey. Hey.” She moves over to the couch and puts a hand on Klaus’ shoulder, gives a few vague patting motions until he stops hacking up a lung. 

 

“Here.” Allison tries to nudge the glass of water on the coffee table closer to Klaus, but it sloshes over. “Oops.” 

 

Klaus takes a few measured sips, then points at Allison. 

 

“You’re terrible at taking care of people.” His finger is accusatory, but not in an unkind way. Klaus has always been blunt, tongue sharp regardless of whether he’d wet it on booze or pills. 

 

“Me?” Allison straightens. “I… I take care of Claire when she’s sick.” 

 

Klaus looks unimpressed. “Do you, though? Like, really.” He swallows another mouthful of water, and coughs with his mouth shut like he’s trying to keep another fit from overtaking him. 

 

Allison counts to five before speaking, a technique her marriage counselor had advised. Absently, she wonders whether one can have a marriage counselor if one no longer has a marriage. 

 

“Just… stay there and I’ll get you some tea with honey. It should help with this”-- Allison waves her hand vaguely around her brother-- “whole situation.” 

 

Klaus sends her off with a little salute. 

 

On her way to the kitchen and as she’s making the tea, Allison marvels at how easily Klaus can get under her skin, even now. They’ve only been around each other consistently for a few months and it’s like Klaus knows every card she has in her hand; a familial tarot he can read effortlessly. 

 

She kind of hates him for it. She’s still making it up as she goes along. 

 

***

 

“You’re right.” Allison plunks the mug of tea down next to her brother and sighs as she sits down.  

 

“Right about what?” 

 

She smacks him a little, but not very hard. “About me being bad at taking care of people.” 

 

“Mmm.” Klaus sips the tea and sighs. “Maybe, but you were right about the tea.” He fails to smother another cough in his throat and Allison’s own chest prickles at the rough, scraping sound. 

 

“I guess.” Allison shrugs. “But you’re still right, about Claire.” She looks down at her hands. “I just… I’m not very good at that kind of stuff. I don’t know what to do. Not like other people.” 

 

“What other people?” Klaus looks genuinely curious. 

 

“Oh, you know… my ex. And, like, every other mom in LA.” 

 

“Don’t the other moms all have nannies?” 

 

Allison shrugs. “Sure. But the  _ nannies _ know what to do. I was just always lost and trying not to like, rumor my daughter into not being sick because I couldn’t handle it. You know?” 

 

And now she’s almost crying, and how did that happen? This is supposed to be about her helping Klaus feel better. Even though he’s been a royal pain for the last week, coughing all over the place and lying on the couch feverishly, hogging the TV and sniffling. 

 

“Hey.” Klaus puts his hand on her knee and pats it. His voice is a little hoarse from coughing and his eyes are maybe a little too bright, but he’s earnest.

 

“You’re a good mom, Allison. Telling a few rumors doesn’t make that not true. And”-- Klaus pauses to twist away from Allison and cough into his shoulder-- “ _ And _ , as I was saying, it’s not like any of the rest of us have anything figured out. I mean, look at what a fucking mess this family is.” He gestures vaguely at the house, and Allison can’t help smiling a little. 

 

“Well,” she says. “You certainly are one to talk. You’re terrible at taking care of yourself.” 

 

Klaus feigns shock. “ _ Moi _ ? Never.” He’s smiling, though, and so Allison stays there with him on the couch until he finishes the tea and then scoots back until his head is resting on the arm of the couch and his feet are in her lap. 

 

“Personal space, much?” 

 

“I’m  _ sick _ ,” Klaus says, as if that excuses his dirty socks in Allison’s lap. 

  
Allison knows she should get up-- maybe make her brother another mug of tea or get him to take the antibiotics the rent-a-doc had prescribed him. And she will, soon enough. For now, she’s enjoying the feeling of being needed, of being  _ enough _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for the "cold turns into bronchitis/pneumonia because character is terrible at taking care of themselves" trope. Clearly.


	6. city of angels (ben/everyone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang heads to LA for their first interview on live TV since Dad dragged them on the Tonight Show. Allison is Not Ready to be back in LA, and Klaus is still feeling shitty. Things go about like you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-chapter 5 because I clearly have a Complex about bronchitis. Enjoy.

“The air in this building is shit,” Klaus proclaims as they step into the foyer of the hotel. He sniffs, a little congestedly, and coughs lightly into his wrist. 

 

“Have you been to our house? Parts of it look like a David Fincher movie set.” 

 

“Aw,  _ Fiiiive _ ! You’ve been catching up on all the films I told you to watch. That’s so  _ sweet _ .” Klaus grips Five’s shoulder, maybe a little harder than he intended to. 

 

“Get off me.” Five brushes him off, and Klaus briefly looks put upon, but is soon distracted by Allison handing out the room keys.  

 

Klaus is briefly elated at having his own hotel room on the top floor, but much less so when he opens the door to the room and discovers that whoever’d done the cleaning had neglected to turn the air conditioning back on. 

 

He fusses with the dials for a bit and stands with a hand on a hip as the system clunks back to life. 

 

“The air in this room is shit, too,” Klaus says to Ben, who’s paging through a “celebrity tombstones of Los Angeles” pamphlet. “I think I’ll open the window and get some fresh air.” 

 

Klaus looks decidedly put-upon when there’s no immediate change in the room upon opening the window.

 

They’re in Los Angeles, Ben points out. It’s not like the air is going to be any better outside. In fact, it’ll likely be worse. 

 

“I  _ know _ that,” Klaus replies testily. “I just wanted to look out the window.” 

 

Out the window it looks smoggy. Leaning down to shove the window shut again makes Klaus start to cough again, and Ben just raises an eyebrow like  _ I told you so.  _ He doesn’t even need to say it anymore; he’s been there for all the highs that led to lows. 

 

“Ughhhh,” Klaus sighs, draping himself on top of the bedspread. “I feel like shit. And this hotel is going to be full of dead people. I can hear them already.” 

 

Ben makes a sympathetic face, but Klaus knows that there’s only so far he can really go with that. He’s only here because of some sort of weird symbiotic relationship between his essence and Klaus’ godforsaken powers. 

 

“Why couldn’t I have gotten a cliché but useful superpower, like flying?” Klaus asks. He clears his throat to get rid of a tickle and ends up coughing. 

 

Your powers are useful, at least, Ben says mildly, and Klaus throws a pillow at the area his ghost is occupying, which doesn’t do anything except leave him minus a pillow. 

 

“Yeah, but they SUCK,” Klaus returns. “Ow.” He massages his throat a little, then curls up on his side, resting his head on his arm. It looks uncomfortable. 

 

Maybe you should take a nap, Ben suggests, and Klaus gives him the finger, but rolls over onto his other side anyway. He’s quiet until he falls asleep, breathing noisily through his mouth. 

 

*** 

 

“The interview is at ten a.m. tomorrow,” Allison announces as they’re all out to dinner that night at some schmancy club. Klaus is picking at his food and he’s not the only one. 

 

“So be ready to go by eight,” Allison finishes, and takes a swig of her cocktail. She grimaces, then takes another swallow. Luther puts his hand on her arm and murmurs something in her ear that Klaus can’t hear, but he can certainly see Allison toss her hair and lean away. 

 

“Eight?!” Klaus repeats, and Vanya catches his eye from across the table. 

 

“You should go to bed early,” she says. “You look a little…” Her forehead creases as she weighs her words, a mental scale of filial charm and honesty. 

  
Honesty wins out. “You look like you’re still sick.” 

 

“I’m doing GREAT, thanks for asking.” Klaus sits up straighter as if to show off. Beside him in the seemingly-empty chair, Ben sniggers. 

 

“It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t answer it.” Vanya looks at him in that way she has of making Klaus feel like she’s a butterfly collector and he’s a rare lepidopteran. 

 

“Ugh. Fine.” Klaus drags out the word until it makes him cough, and then he wilts in on himself a little. “Okay, yeah. I’m still sick. Apparently long-term smoking isn’t great for one’s bronchial health.” 

 

Next to him, Ben rolls his eyes. Klaus can feel it, even if he’s not looking. He can definitely hear Diego snigger on his other side, though. 

 

“Something you’d like to share, Diego?” 

 

“Nope, nothing at all.” Diego spears a grape tomato on the tines of his fork and pops it into his mouth. 

 

Klaus swivels his head around to look at the rest of his siblings: Five, who’s finishing up a bottle of wine; and Luther and Allison, who seem to be having an argument. 

 

“This family is a dysfunctional delight. I, for one, hope that comes across in the interview.”

 

***

 

“I thought you knew this person, Allison,” Luther says the next morning as they’re all waiting in the green room to be collected for the interview. They’ve already been fully hairsprayed and powdered, and now all that’s left is to get this over with.

 

“No, I said that my people knew her,” Allison replies absently. “Hey. Where’s Diego? Shit. Has anyone seen Diego?” 

 

“Relax,” Five says. “He said he’d be right back.” 

 

“He  _ knows  _ that this is a live interview, right?” Allison’s heels make quick tippy-tappy noises as she paces. 

 

“I’m sure he does,” Vanya says, and Allison heaves a sigh. 

 

“Where did he go, anyway? What could he possibly need at this point? It’s nine-thirty a.m.” 

 

“Chill,” Five says. “He just went to get Klaus some drugs.” 

 

“Drugs?!” Allison looks ready to hyperventilate. 

 

Just then, Diego appears next to her elbow, startling her. 

 

“Yes, drugs. As in… Nyquil. Or Dayquil, I guess. Anything to help him stop coughing. Kid sounds terrible.” 

 

“Jesus.” Allison’s hand hovers around her chest. “Okay, fine. Whatever can get us through this interview.” 

 

***

 

“For  _ moi _ ? Diego, you’re too kind.” Klaus opens the plastic CVS shopping bag open and grabs for the DayQuil bottle. 

 

“I think you’re supposed to… oh. Well. Okay.” Diego watches as Klaus opens the bottle and takes a swig directly from the top instead of using the little plastic cup. 

 

“What?” Klaus asks. “I know how to measure.” 

 

“Sure,” Diego says, as Klaus takes another little sip. “Yup. Okay.” 

 

“Hey, guys?” Five pops into existence next to Diego’s elbow. “It’s showtime.” 

 

“Jesus, you couldn’t have walked across the room?” 

 

***

 

The interview stage involves two little orange couches, and Klaus ends up on the far one, sandwiched between Diego and Vanya. Poor Five is squished up against the arm of the other couch because Allison is sitting on the far end with at least two inches between her leg and Luther’s. 

 

“Wait, her name is  _ actually  _ Carly Carlson?” Luther stage-whispers suddenly, and Allison almost has a miniature heart attack. 

 

“Shh, Luther. You’re miked, remember?” 

 

Luther shrugs, and Diego catches Klaus’ eye and grins, then ducks his head as their interviewer comes back onto the little stage. 

 

She’s preternaturally blonde and wearing a skimpy mod-style dress that’s a shade of teal that almost hurts the eyes. It certainly makes a splash against her own little orange armchair. 

 

“Lilly Pulitzer,” she chirps, eyeing Diego’s eyes on her hemline. 

 

“Oh. Sorry,” Diego says, swallowing uncomfortably. “I like leather.” 

 

“I’m sure you do, sweetness.” She flounces into the chair and crosses her legs at the ankle bone. 

 

“Now, shall we get to know one another?” 

 

***

 

There’s the usual song-and-dance of introduction, with Carly playing the coy ingenue. She even gets up and shakes each of their hands. She fawns over Allison, squeezes Luther’s bicep, and pats Five on the head like she thinks he’s actually a five-year-old. She ignores Vanya outright, and after the “leather” repartee, she seems ready to favor Diego, but that all changes when she eyes Klaus and his feathered wrap. 

 

“Well, hel _ lo _ there.” 

 

Carly reaches her hand out to Klaus but he holds up his own hand as if to stop her from shaking it, then turns his head quickly to sneeze. 

 

He winces, and says, “Remind me not to do that again.” Carly almost falls out of her chair blessing him when he does it again a minute later. 

 

Allison rolls her eyes at Klaus, who pretends he can’t see her. 

 

The interview is every bit as awkward as Klaus remembers from childhood- that time Dad dragged them on the  _ Tonight Show _ and made them all wear their masks the whole time is a particularly vivid memory no amount of psychoactive substances has ever been able to erase. 

 

Carly flits from sibling to sibling, quizzing them on their current careers (“What careers?” Ben says, and Klaus has to work hard not to react because live microphone), relationships (“The incestuous ones or otherwise?”), and future plans for hero activity (“is ‘none’ an option?”). 

 

Klaus feels like he manages to get through most of it with minimal future embarrassment (that’s just what he needs right now; some tabloid cover of himself looking like a snotty mess), and he even manages to evade Carly coming in for a hug after the interview is over. 

 

“So sorry,” he tells her, putting on the magnanimous tone of someone who is  _ truly _ regretful, “but I’m a little under the weather. Don’t want to be sharing my germs with you.” 

 

“Oh,  _ staaahp _ it!” Carly punches him in the bicep. “You’re so  _ funny _ .” 

 

“Sure.” Klaus conveniently has a coughing fit at that point, and uses it to take his leave of the stage and the conversation. 

 

Of course, by the time he’s back in the green room, he’s feeling a little dizzy from lack of oxygen. He has to sit down on one of the uncomfortably angular mid-century modern leather couches, where Diego finds him a few minutes later. 

 

“Here.” Diego flips a piece of paper in the air and it hits Klaus right in the sternum. Goddamn those stupid powers. 

 

“Carly wanted to give it to you in person, but I managed to persuade her to let me do it.” 

 

Klaus looks at the business card, where a phone number is circled and underlined with a little pierced-arrow heart drawn next to the name. 

 

“It’s cute,” Diego says. “If you’re into that kind of thing.” 

 

Klaus sniffles, dragging his hand under his nose. “I’m not,” he says flatly. “Right now, I think the only thing I’m into is the hotel bed. And leaving this city at some point in the near future.” He coughs again, and it’s rasping and  _ hurts _ and the look on Diego’s face is enough to let Klaus know that it sounds just as bad as it feels. 

 

When there’s yet  _ another _ coughing fit that leaves him wheezing, Diego just looks at him and says, “It’s been long enough, Klaus. I’m taking you to a doctor.” 

 

*** 

 

All of the employees at the nearest urgent care clinic-- including the doctors and nurses-- look like they’re going to go pose for headshots after work or maybe do some dailies on a soap opera, but they seem competent enough that Diego’s okay with trusting them with his brother’s care. 

 

The broodingly handsome doctor takes a few listens to Klaus’ breathing and draws his perfect eyebrows together over the chart the hourglass-figured nurse had drawn up. 

 

“Given the typical lung sounds and the slight fever-- as well as your history of smoking,”-- at this, Klaus shoots Diego a sharp glare-- “I’m pretty confident that you’ve got yourself a nasty little case of bronchitis.” 

 

The doctor swoops a few illegible scrawls on a slip of paper and hands it to Diego, because clearly he’s the one in charge here. 

 

“The infection is likely viral, so I’m not going to prescribe any antibiotics, but I’m going to recommend picking up an inhaler at the pharmacy for short-term use. You can take some over-the-counter cough medication too if it gets too bothersome.” 

 

Klaus coughs, pointedly, and Diego pats his knee.

 

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get some more of that, too.” 

 

*** 

 

The rest of the trip is honestly a blur- Klaus feels like he spends most of it sleeping- first in the hotel bed, dosed up on NyQuil, then in the reclining first-class airline seat Allison had sprung for. He sneezes himself awake at some point over one of those squarish flyover states and the flight attendant brings him an entire box of name-brand Kleenex. Now that’s service. 

 

Within a week, Klaus is back to mostly-normal. Sure, he’s still seeing spirits and talking his dead brother’s ear off, but that’s what counts for healthy these days. He’s rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen when Diego comes in. 

 

“Hey, Diego,” Klaus says. “Guess what?” 

 

“Do I want to?” 

 

“It’s worth it.” Klaus looks triumphant upon unearthing an ancient china sugar bowl. 

 

“Okay, what?” 

 

“You remember Carly?” 

 

Diego sighs. “How could I forget?” 

 

“Well, I called her up and told her I’d love to take her out next time I’m in LA.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Mm-hmm.” Klaus licks a fingertip and sticks it into the sugar bowl, then tastes it. “Good, it’s sugar. Had a nasty little accident with salt one time. You don’t want to know.” 

 

Diego doesn’t even bother asking about that. “So, Carly. When are you planning to go back to LA?” 

 

“Oh, probably never. Just thought it’d be a lark.” 

 

“A lark?” 

 

“Yes, Diego, a lark. Fun! You know.” Klaus dumps half the contents of the sugar bowl into his mug and stirs, then takes a big sip.

Diego watches his brother for a moment- with the non-Apocalypse and all, a little case of bronchitis and standing up a Los Angeles TV host isn’t all that bad in the grand scheme. 

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I do.” 

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to [painting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting) for idea bouncing. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://superstringtheory.tumblr.com/) too because there aren't enough places for my sin already.

**Author's Note:**

> I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I'm a sucker for a flamboyant trainwreck. Oh, and sickfic and caretaking. That too. 
> 
> I'm at superstringtheory.tumblr.com if you want to say hi!


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